Twisted Sisters (The Orion Circle Book 2) Read online

  “Mom, I—”

  “Don’t argue. Do a reading. Now.”

  I shuffle the worn deck, once, twice, three times. “How many cards?”

  “Just three. Hurry.”

  The first card I turn over is the Five of Swords. Not surprising at all. “Defeat.” Not a great card, but given the events of the day it’s appropriate. My hand trembles over the next card. I know what it is without turning it, but I flip it over anyway. The Tower. Trials, tribulations, and turmoil. Craptastic. Without waiting, I flip over the third card. Nine of Swords. “Anguish.” There are few tarot readings that I can’t but a hopeful spin on… but with these three cards together, I just can’t see it. I glance up at Mom, my heart racing at the fear reflected in her eyes.

  “What happens if a ghost kills someone?”

  Before the Foxblood Demon, before the power I witnessed today, I’d have said it was impossible. But now… “I don’t know. Why do you ask?” The tremor in my voice gives away the unease I’m trying to hide. What isn’t she telling me?

  She doesn’t answer. Instead she whips out her cell phone. “Roger? It’s Marianne. I had a premonition… a bad one.” Silence stretches out as she listens to him speak. “Yes, get everyone here as soon as possible. We need to do something before midnight.” More silence. “Pour a rim of salt around the pool where the spirit board rests. Remember that blackberry wreath I gave Anna for Christmas last year? Float that on the pool. It will help keep the spirit from accessing any power from the board.”

  “What’s going on, Mom?” Blackberry, salt, none of this sounds good. Both are used to suppress negative spirit activity. “Why did you call Mr. Kincaid?”

  “Sweetie, it’s so hard for me to explain…” She trails off as she plumps my pillows again, betraying her frayed nerves. “I only want to explain once. Plus I need some time to commune with the Goddess. I want to be sure…”

  “Mom…” I call out, but my voice is weak. Samson and Delilah settle at my sides, loud purrs vibrating their lithe bodies. I run my hands down both of their backs, the action soothing my nerves. As my eyes flutter closed, I realize Mom got me again. Sedative in the hot chocolate. I should know better by now…

  The soft hum of multiple voices awakens me. I stretch my arms over my head before I remember the torn intercostal muscle in my side. Whatever Mom put in the hot chocolate helped with the pain as well. It’s nice having a mom who is an expert herbalist. The cats mewl, then stretch their backs and knead their front paws against my legs. Their claws scrape along my jeans, light enough to leave no mark. The spicy scent of marinara and pepperoni wafts across my nose, making my stomach rumble in response. Pizza.

  Kacie leans down, her bright smile bringing a returning one of my own. “I brought you two slices, both pepperoni and jalapeno.” She sets the paper plate on my lap, and the cats sniff the crust.

  “Mine.” They look at me with narrowed eyes, displeased with my words.

  “Come on, kitties,” Kacie says in a cooing voice. “I got you some food on the way over. Fancy Feast… though I really doubt it’s all that fancy… still I’m sure you’ll like it better than pizza.” She heads to the kitchen, my new familiars winding around her ankles.

  “Hours of footage and nothing!” Carl’s angry voice makes me cringe as he plops down on the sofa beside me.

  Do I dare ask?

  He glares at me. “Aren’t you even gonna ask? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. All I have are major EMF spikes and the chair flying through the window. Oh, and of course lots of interviews with overdramatic girls.”

  “It’s not so bad, Carl.” Rebecca’s voice is soft, like she’s trying to calm a scared puppy.

  “Hmph. Easy for you to say.” Carl folds his arms over his chest. “You didn’t just spend hours going through useless footage!”

  Rebecca waves a slice of pizza under his nose. “C’mon, Carly, you need to eat something.”

  Did she just call him Carly?

  He pushes her hand away. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Quit pouting and eat already.” She shoves the pizza against his mouth, but he refuses to open it. “Look, Logan’s eating and he got his ass handed to him again today. You don’t see him complaining.”

  “Back. Off.” The words come out harsher than I intended.

  Kacie sits on the arm of the sofa beside me. “You okay?” She runs her hand through my hair, brushing her thumb across my forehead.

  I close my eyes, letting my head fall back against the sofa. “Is it just me, or did those ghosts seem more focused on me than anyone else.”

  “Kacie mentioned that.” Rebecca sets her plate on Carl’s lap and digs through her messenger bag. “I found a picture of the nutty professor. Other than hair color, you two look a bit alike.”

  I glance at the grainy newspaper photo. “I don’t see it.”

  “I do,” Kacie says as she glances between the photo and me several times. “It’s in the facial structure.”

  Rebecca nods. “Yep. It would almost be a subconscious recognition. Our brains are hardwired to recognize faces through structure, even though we don’t consciously realize it.”

  Craptastic.

  “We might be able to use that.” Rebecca stares at the ceiling as she says the words.

  “The least you can do is look at me if you’re going to use me as cannon fodder.”

  Kacie lets out a noise that sounds like a growl. “Hasn’t he been through enough?” When Rebecca ignores her, Kacie grabs her arm. “Look at him!”

  Her eyes fill with remorse when she glances at me. “I’m sorry, Logan.”

  “It’s okay. I was thinking the same thing anyway.”

  Kacie wraps her arm around my shoulders. “You’ve been hit in the head a few too many times.”

  “That last bookend hurt.” I rub the back of my head where the flying menace struck.

  “Logan, there’s dried blood,” Kacie says as she moves my hair aside with gentle fingers. “How hard were you hit?”

  “I saw stars.” I laugh and she gives me a hard glare. “Tunnel vision for a second or so on the way out.”

  She lets my hair fall back to cover the evidence. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Uh… we were running from a pissed off, crazy-ass ghost. Remember.”

  “Eat something.”

  “I am.”

  “You haven’t touched your pizza,” Kacie says, pointing at my full plate. “Grilled cheese?”

  I nod, and she takes the plate from my hands. My stomach couldn’t handle the spicy pizza. If I’m going to be any use tonight, I need to fuel up on something that won’t make me feel worse. Mom swoops in, taking the plate and rescuing Kacie from cooking. I don’t miss the relieved look in my girlfriend’s eyes.

  “Move over.” She taps Carl’s leg with the tip of her boot.

  “Where’s your food,” I ask, noticing her empty hands.

  “Already ate it.” She laughs at my surprised expression. “What? I was hungry. I scarfed it in the kitchen.”

  “Whoa!” Blake’s loud voice booms through the room.

  Poe flaps around near the ceiling, circling the room a few times before landing on Kacie’s lap.

  I glare at Blake. He shrugs. “Sorry. He flew right past me when I opened the door.”

  Samson and Delilah choose this moment to return from the kitchen. I cringe as they jump up on my lap, waiting for the fur and feathers to fly. Both cats regard Poe who bobs his head a few times and lets out a soft, caw. Meow, the cats respond together before settling down on my lap.

  “That went better than expected,” my mom says, echoing my thoughts. She hands me a plate with a steaming grilled cheese on it. “Blake, honey, grab your dinner so we can all sit down and plan our attack tonight. Oh, and Poe, I left the kitchen window open. Please do your business outside.”

  Caw. Poe answers, ruffling his feathers.

  “Total weirdness,” Carl says in his squeaky, I’m-completely-creeped-out-now voice.
r />   “Carl, can it,” Rebecca says, punching him in the arm.

  “I just call ‘em as I see ‘em.”

  “Yeah, well maybe you should close your eyes for a while.”

  “Enough!”

  All eyes focus on Mr. Kincaid who just entered the room.

  “Sorry.” He pulls off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Let’s get down to business. Marianne?”

  “Earlier I had a premonition, foggy, yet I knew it was bad.” She pauses and glances at me. “It felt dire, but I couldn’t grasp what the premonition wanted me to know, so I had Logan do a tarot reading.”

  When she doesn’t continue, Mr. Kincaid asks, “Did that help?”

  “I think so. Logan, can you summarize the reading?”

  Blake interrupts. “Wait a sec. Where’s Raven?”

  “In my workshop making blackberry wreaths and some herbal pouches for tonight,” Mom says, pointing absently down the hall. When Blake rises to search her out, Mom adds, “I don’t think she’s eaten, take some extra pizza.”

  “You sure you don’t need me?” Though Blake asks, it’s obvious he’s already decided to go to Raven.

  “No, dear, you’re muscle tonight.”

  Blake nods before disappearing down the hall carting two plates filled with pizza. My worn tarot deck lies on the table beside me, watching… waiting. I pick it up and shuffle the cards a few times. The practiced motion eases my tension.

  “The cards before were Five of Swords, the Tower, and Nine of Swords,” I murmur more to myself than anyone else.

  “Oh.” Kacie gasps. “I know the Tower is really bad.” She grasps my arm. “The last time he did a reading for me, I got the Tower. He doubled my training with Blake. I swear the extra training is what’ll kill me.”

  Snorts of laughter follow her remarks. We’ve all been on the receiving end of Blake’s training. He takes it seriously, like a werewolf should. If he ever leads his pack, anyone can challenge him in a fight for leadership. The fights aren’t supposed to be to the death, but they can be deadly nonetheless. Sometimes Blake forgets that we aren’t all werewolves fighting for pack position. But for all of Kacie’s complaints about the rigid training, she loves it. Occupational hazards are par for the course for the Orion Circle. Be prepared isn’t just for Boy Scouts.

  “Upright, the card isn’t as dire for most people…” I trail off before glancing at Kacie. “For us and our job it just isn’t true. For us the Tower means a large obstacle that must be overcome. Obstacles in the supernatural world tend to be very dangerous.”

  “What about the swords,” Rebecca asks, her fingers poised to type on her laptop.

  “Swords are somewhat bad all around… they stand for strife and turbulence in life. Bad times needed to be overcome. Five of Swords basically stands for defeat‌—‌like what we experienced today.”

  “We moved two people on,” Daniel says as he enters the room. “How is that defeat?”

  “I’m not saying that wasn’t good,” I say before sighing. “We left behind trouble bigger than those two spirits combined. I did this reading for Mom and her premonition. Defeat represents Tracy’s spirit.”

  “And the Nine?” Rebecca prompts.

  “Anguish. Despair. Loss.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Danger

  KACIE

  A shudder courses through me‌—‌not from Logan’s words but the anguish in his voice as he spoke them. I cuddle up against his side, nudging Samson… or is it Delilah? I can’t tell them apart yet. The cat stares at me with inscrutable eyes before moving and curling up on my other side. As I lean up against Logan’s side, Poe hops from my leg to my hip. He walks around a few times then settles down on top of the purring cat. Damn, I wish I had my cell handy.

  “Logan’s reading confirmed my premonition,” Mrs. Finley says, wringing her hands together. “I saw shadows enter the sorority house, heard screams, saw death.”

  Rebecca tips her head. “Death?”

  “Yes. The Grim Reaper… the embodiment of death. I think the nine swords represent some overly curious individuals who plan to sneak into the house tonight.”

  Carl leaps to his feet, knocking Rebecca’s laptop to the floor. “Nine people are going to sneak in there and ruin everything I set up? Uh, not to mention get themselves killed!”

  “Damn it, Carl, chill.” Rebecca leans down and snatches her laptop from the plush carpet. “You’re being too literal again. How many times have I told you—”

  “Carl, sweetie, sit down.” Mrs. Finley’s soothing voice calms Carl enough that he sinks back down to the sofa. “It really doesn’t matter if it’s one or one hundred people sneaking in. What I foresaw was bad.”

  “We need to get down there and neutralize this ghost before anyone has a chance to trespass,” Rebecca says.

  Mr. Kincaid nods. “Agreed. That leads us to the how. After everything that’s happened, I can’t allow anyone else to enter that house without a definitive plan.”

  “What are our options?” Rebecca asks as she gathers her hair into a messy ponytail. “I wasn’t there and haven’t been briefed.”

  “We crossed two of the spirits, Renee and Amy.” I reach down and run my hand along Poe’s soft feathers. The cat at my side butts my hand with its head, begging for attention. “Which cat is this?” I ask Logan in a whisper.

  “Samson.”

  I run my fingers through Samson’s silky fur, finding solace in the soothing motion. “Tracy went bat crap crazy. I think Rebecca’s theory about shadow people origins may be correct. She was changing, warping right before our eyes.”

  “It was like every angry outburst darkened her spiritual energy,” Daniel says while pacing the floor. “She seemed to be the ringleader, the one who would rile up the other two. When they moved on, it infuriated her. She screamed about being abandoned again.”

  “Abandonment issues?” Rebecca types on her keyboard. “I haven’t really found anything about the three girls online, well not background issues anyway. I didn’t try family… wait. Found her. It’s an article from 1963 about a car accident. It killed her parents. Don’t know what happened to Tracy after that. Maybe shipped around to relatives?”

  Mr. Kincaid nods. “That or foster care.”

  “She was also angry that Angela got to live while she died,” Logan adds.

  “On that note, I thought of something earlier.” I lean back as Poe hops across me, heading toward Logan’s plate. He grabs a piece of bread crust in his beak and settles down on my lap.

  Carl snorts. “Weird doesn’t even begin to describe that.”

  “Shh,” Rebecca admonishes. “Go ahead, Kacie.”

  “People tend to concentrate on the victims and forget the survivors. Angela had a terrible life after the murders. The trial itself had to be an ordeal. She was in and out of mental hospitals. Maybe if we can make Tracy understand how much Angela has suffered, she might calm down.”

  Rebecca’s fingers click away on the keys. “It says here that she was originally charged as an accessory to murder one. She pled out and agreed to assist the DA. In return for testifying, the accessory charges were dropped to felony mischief. She received a thousand hours of community service.”

  Logan frowns. “That seems rather harsh, given she was a victim as well.”

  “You have to understand the culture in the early seventies,” Rebecca says. “The whole MKUltra thing was unheard of. Modern behavioral psychology was in its infancy. What the police and the court saw was a girl besotted enough with a man that she’d do anything for his love and his drugs. And this was also on the heels of the Manson murders, which to this day are memorable to say the least. I think they wanted to send a message that this type of excuse would not be tolerated. It never occurred to them that the depraved professor used drugs and emotional abuse to create an almost Stockholm Syndrome with her.”

  “Stockholm Syndrome?” Carl asks, scrunching up his face. “Isn’t that a bit extreme? She wasn�
�t a kidnap victim held prisoner for years.”

  Rebecca shakes her head. “Maybe not but emotional and physical abuse in a relationship can also lead to Stockholm-like characteristics. She was manipulated emotionally through the use of suggestion and drugs by someone she admired. Over time, she lost all sense of self as she became immersed in his fantasy world.”

  “Problem is… she didn’t stay in that fantasy world.” My chest aches, a dull pressure that makes it hard to breathe. I can only imagine what that poor girl felt when she was finally herself again. Despair, hopelessness, self-loathing. “Once separated from him and the drugs, she recovered fairly quickly. Then she couldn’t live with what she had done.”

  “Add to that the trauma of the trial…” Daniel stops his pacing to meet my eyes. “Can you imagine what a circus that must have been? The photos, the statements, all while having to be in the same courtroom with the monster who tormented her.”

  “You’re right on that account,” Rebecca says after some rapid typing. “The defense tried to paint Angela as the instigator and murderer. According to accounts, the cross-examination was brutal. I can’t find a transcript of the trial… not that I’d want to read it anyway. All I know is that Angela didn’t make it through the trial. She suffered a mental breakdown on the stand. The defense didn’t go for insanity or anything, even though Dr. Rosenthal was caught at the scene of the crime covered in the blood from all four victims.”

  Carl looks up. “Four?”

  Rebecca nods. “Four. Angela’s blood was on him too.” She pauses and continues to scan the story on her laptop. “When Angela was led from the sorority house in handcuffs, she was covered in blood‌—‌her own blood, but no one knew that yet. The media painted them as Bonnie and Clyde serial murderers for two weeks until the police announced that Angela was cleared of any murder charges. I can’t believe the defense tried to pin the whole thing on her.” Rebecca lets out a wry laugh. “Stupid plan, didn’t work.”

  “Doesn’t matter much though,” Logan says. “Angela never recovered from the ordeal.”